


Reward

by Davechicken



Series: The Emperor and his Knight [20]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7103782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kylo has done a very good job. Poe wants to reward him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reward

Kylo has done well. He knows he has done well, because his Emperor-husband sent him to quell a minor insurrection. Not only did he nip it in the bud, but he also gathered vital intel which will help them crush the organisation, and stop the grass roots work they were doing. 

Kylo has done _really_ well. He’s made the galaxy safer, and more peaceful, and more secure. It’s still a little scary to him that his actions can have such widespread ramifications, but they do. He can wave a hand and topple planets, now. They have weapons capable of such destruction that the galaxy has never seen, but they don’t use them for anything but intimidation. Neither he nor Poe desires widespread death, just _Order_. Order, without the tyranny of the Jedi. Order, with love at the helm. A galaxy united beneath two lovers, kept in check and given the freedom where it matters, really: freedom of the heart to love.

He’s fresh from the battle when he gets back to their flagship, the (perhaps unsurprisingly titled) _Order_. Straight from his shuttle to the Emperor’s audience chamber. High vaulted ceiling, high backed throne. His long tunic taps the back of his ankles like a shield on an ancient warrior’s calves. _Come back with your shield, or on it_. Confident, he strides up to the throne itself, stopping only a few feet short. He drops to a kneel, hands reaching for his helmet, and is surprised when he hears a soft:

“Not yet, pet.”  


Poe normally wants him unmasked, but he won’t disobey. Hands on his knee, he looks up “Your Excellency?”

“You have done a great service to the Empire, my beloved.”  


Kylo feels his face heat below opaque black. He gazes up, adoring. “Yes, my Lord. It is all for you.”

“Many people will benefit from your hard work. The galaxy is a better place because of you.”  


The Knight wants to defer, wants to tell his Emperor that it’s not true. He did it, but it’s not because of him: he’s a weapon, striking where the sword-arm aims him. Poe makes the big decisions, not him. But - he supposes - the day he killed the former Leader Snoke and placed Poe at the head of the Order was the day he chose the best ruler for the galaxy. So he nods, just a little, to show he understands. _He_ would not rule well, or wisely, but he was smart enough to know and pick someone who would: Poe.

“I want to reward you, pet. Come here.” A finger crooks, beckoning him closer.   


Kylo rises, and walks up to his Emperor’s throne. At the gesture, he bends and offers his mask, and is pleasantly surprised when the face-plate is grabbed, inching him in closer still. He watches as fingers slide around the metal brow ridges, the blur as they come too close to focus on. The mask is only for intimidation and warfare, now, and it no longer feels as ‘him’ as it used to. It’s familiar, when he puts it on, but no longer ‘him’. 

Poe’s hands trace it, and Kylo can almost feel the brushing fingers over his own skin. He holds his breath as the tips trace where his lips would be, not wanting to disturb them, and when he finally unclicks the helm, it’s a relief. The soft _whirr_ of the frontispiece lifting, and the sections spreading to allow his face to escape the dark prison. It’s put to one side, and his smile meets Poe’s.

“You’re so much prettier like this.”  


“For you, my Lord.” He’s come to accept that he’s beautiful in those eyes, even if not in his own. His own matter less: he only sees himself in reflections, and Poe sees him all the time.   


His hands continue to touch, and Kylo holds onto the armrest of the throne. Over his full lips, pulling smiles with friction, over the arch of his cheekbones. Up, across his brow. Down, over his nose. Around the spread of his ears, along his throat, into his hair. His lashes brush his eyes shut as he enjoys the contact, breathing hitching in response. Hair teased and tugged to fan around his face, and he looks longingly at his Master’s own.

“Please, may I kiss you?”  


“You may.” Poe sounds pleased to be asked, and doesn’t push the contact. Lazy eyes and a grin that looks delicious.  


Kylo bends his elbows, narrowing the angle between them. An arch onto the balls of his feet and he glides his lips over Poe’s as if afraid they might shatter. Again, but this time pausing in the middle, mouth moving around silent words: promises, offerings, prayers. The kiss deepens by degrees, and Kylo licks into his mouth, then sucks until Poe takes his own mouth in repayment of a debt long since agreed. Back and forth, back and forth, the air thinner and hotter, until it’s too thin to survive on, and he pulls back.

“I want you to stand on my seat,” Poe tells him.  


“H-huh?”  


“Stand with your feet either side of me. I want to swallow you whole.”  


Is that even wise? The throne seat is broad enough for his feet, and the back of it is tall enough to hold onto, but should he really stand for that? And should he even be doing it? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? “Master?”

“Shh, pet. I want it.”  


Which is the crux of the matter, isn’t it? What Poe wants, Poe gets. So Kylo carefully climbs up, pushing his feet on either side of Poe’s thighs. He grabs the back of the throne in preparation, and looks down.

“Good boy,” Poe purrs, and grabs his hips. He holds him still, and buries his face between his legs, breathing deeply. A ravenous little smile, and dark eyes flick up to him. “You smell intoxicating.”  


“Thank you, my Lord.”  


“I’m going to eat you alive, you know?”  


Poe could make ‘Hello’ sound like the best proposition ever (and, indeed, has), but outright **filth** has Kylo keening, and grinding against his noise and mouth. Please, please, please.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Fingers undoing buttons, unzipping zips, unravelling his self-control. “Love to feel my mouth on you. Will you stay standing to attention as I swallow your cock, beloved?”  


“I-if you ask me to…”  


“Will you clasp your hands behind your back, like you are standing on duty, while I suck your brains out?”  


 _F u c k_. Yes. Kylo’s hands move at once, clasping his hands in the small of his back, bracing himself further with his feet jammed at the edges of the throne. Focus. Focus on not falling.

“Stand like that until you can’t, pet.”  


“What then?”  


“Then you ride my face like you mean it.”  


From subservient stillness to active, leading partner? Kylo doesn’t understand, but if it’s what Poe thinks needs to happen, then it will happen. He tightens his grip on himself, watching as he’s peeled slowly open. He’s already half-hard in his pants, so great is Poe’s pull to him, his magnetism stroking him to point firmly up. Warm touches inside black fabric, and he moans as he’s pulled out of the fabric to bob half-up in front of him. He watches the movements, the golden skin against his own blood-stained white, the nails pinching just slightly, pressing in and making his cock steel further. 

“My Lord…” He wants to say so much, but it’s more emotion than reason. More feeling than thought, and feeling comes from a place that’s deeper than words can convey, so he resorts to a flare of hope and respect and admiration and arousal through their Bond, needing to find a way to explain how he feels.  


“I love you too, Kylo.” 

Then those lips kiss the head of his prick, and a tongue drifts out to lap over the crown. It teases at his slit, and around the head with slow, dry whorls. Around and around, and Kylo locks his knees in response, desperate not to disobey. His leather gloves slip on his arms, and he holds tighter still, biting his lower lip.  


“M-master, I–”  


He can’t think what he was going to say, because then a wet tongue drags up from his heavy balls over the underneath of his shaft. Up, up and then wiggles right where he whines, and that goes on until he has to clench his buttocks, too. Tension in all of his frame as he attempts not to move, and his noises are loud in the vaulted room, echoing from one side to the other. He’s still held by the waist, and he’s grateful for the grounding, because he feels like he’s too-tall, and that he’ll topple at any moment. 

Poe’s mouth is clever, his tongue firm and sure. He runs it underneath until Kylo’s breath is barking-rough, and then wraps tight lips around the tip. Wet, laving laps and then a tense suction, leaving the rest of his shaft unloved. He sucks hard enough to make his cheeks hollow, and Kylo _yelps_ at the sight and feel, both. “Master!”

There’s an answer spoken with tongue and lips, but he can’t understand it past the blockage in Poe’s mouth. And even less so when he bobs his head slowly down, letting his cock glide deeper and deeper, eyes up and on his. He chokes in sympathy, watching Poe’s lips spread around him, imagining his throat full, and shoves his feet harder into the throne’s sides to give him some outlet for the tension. He’s not going to give in that easily.

His stubborn refusal to surrender is met with a stifled chuckle, and then Poe starts to move faster, riding his own face over Kylo’s dick. It’s utterly unfair, and Kylo’s hands move to grab hold of the throne in despair, needing that for purchase as Poe forgets about things like breathing for long moments, and Kylo’s hips flick despite himself, hungrily trying to get more.

He _wants_ more. So much more. He also wants to hold out, to let Poe…

The Emperor - his beloved - his **husband** \- sits back, and a thin chain-link-spit-leash connects them before the distance snaps it back. “It’s alright, love,” he says. 

Poe’s voice is scratchy like first thing in the morning, and he beams with such open adoration that Kylo forgets all kind of decorum and protocol. It just goes, and he’s suddenly grabbing the back of Poe’s head, rolling his hips so he can paint his cockhead over his pretty, pink mouth. 

Forgets everything, and a tiny, nervous laugh leaks out from his lips. Poe smiles and offers a flattened tongue and a spreading yawn and Kylo aims and thrusts inside. He has one hand on the furniture, one on his lover, and he starts to slam brutally hard, knowing Poe can take it. He can feel distress and hypoxia through the Force, so he never really worries any more that he might accidentally go too far. Plus, for all Poe is his Master, they play with other positions frequently enough that Kylo doesn’t feel too strange about this, just the particular problem of _standing on his throne_.

His Emperor’s hands move to clutch and clench at his ass-cheeks, pulling and prising through the fabric, and Kylo wonders how he’ll please Poe, next? Will he kneel astride him and ride him, or will Poe demand he sink to his knees and offer his mouth? Will he be forced to kneel and have come painted across his face? Or something else? He loves every which way of pleasing him, and the ideas spur him on further, make his skin itch with it. He’s not going to last much more, not when he can’t keep his mind from all those delicious thoughts, and he yelps.

 _ **Close** , _he thinks, through their Bond. **_So close._**

A heady blink up at him, and Kylo’s stomach drops. Or his balls. Something drops, and he has tight hold of Poe’s thick curls, bouncing his face over him and calling his name in a **yell** that almost hurts to let out. He keeps clutching for a moment, the fiercest pulses of his need shooting down Poe’s throat, and then he lets go and drops his head into the throne. Hair falls down around his face, and he beams down as Poe looks up.

His Emperor makes a little, garbled noise, and lets Kylo’s cock slip from his lips. He licks it clean, his actions deliberate and measured, and sits back to look up at the Knight above him.

“Positive reinforcement enough for you, pet?”  


“You could just say ‘well done’ and I’d do whatever you asked, you know.”  


“It’s more fun this way.”  


Kylo agrees, it is. 


End file.
